


Dear Alistair

by Alarnia



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sad, The Calling, The Deep Roads, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alarnia/pseuds/Alarnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden Commander Amell faces the deep roads alone: confronting death, and a heartache that will never be assuaged. But sometimes even the strongest of warriors need the help of their friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Calling

 

~~Serrah~~

~~Dear~~

Alistair,

~~I'm writing this to you now~~

~~Zevran tells me that you~~

~~I hope the recruits have not been~~

Maker, whats even the point. I decided to write this so that I could stop lying, and I've done far too much of that in my life... so I suppose I'll simply have to will myself away from scratching out every embarrassing thing. I bet you'd laugh at that: me, a mage and the hero of Fereldan, always quick and finding the clever solution to all our problems, and yet I stumble over my words, or pen, in this case.

I wish you were here now. I wish I could hold onto some brevity here but it seems to be beyond me by this point. Sorry. I imagine you have troubles of your own. ~~But I felt~~.    ~~if not now then I'd probably never~~  blast it. I couldn't let myself be at peace with that kind of regret hanging over my head.

So with all that forbidding language I bet you're looking forward to hearing that the dreams have been getting... worse. Much worse. I should have told you sooner, I could have told you when we last talked. I suppose we would have shared a bottle and drowned our worries and reminisced on times gone by. But I confess I was scared. Believe me when I say that this feeling is as foreign to me as it probably sounds to you. But that is the truth. I wouldn't allow myself that kind of intimacy, for fear of what might I might let slip. Have I ever told you what a lousey drunk I am? I suppose that answers why I never had much of the stuff.

But... the effort was pointless in the end, since I've decided just to come out with it all now. Maybe you'll end up hating me for this, but I will never know because that is the nature of letters and I expect I will not live to read another word in your script. Thank the maker.

As I face the horde I will hold you close to my heart, as the memory of your smile is the only thing in these dreary days that give me peace, and yet     It fills me with such sorrow to think that it never came to anything.

I was simply content to have you by my side for so long, as I am rather used to pining from a distance. Like how I would gaze out over lake Calenhad, and wonder what lay on the other side. I was like a naive, caged bird. I did not know what I missed, so looking did not trouble me so. Likewise I knew from early on that you held no interest in me beyond friendship, and my wants seemed selfish and pointless when it meant upsetting that delicate peace we cultivated around the bonfire. I think both needed that time to sweep our problems away, and pretend our homeland was not on the verge of destruction. So I found distractions and hoped with time that my love for you would pass.

But it never has. I imagine it never will. Once I... no. it doesn't matter now.

The deep roads have never been so lonely. I feel the taint crawling through my veins like a foreign entity seeking to puppet my limbs. I see it's fingers flickering in the dark corners of my sight... and when I sleep I am yet another mindless thing amongst the throng. Sometimes, there are victims... and when I escape to the fade the demons come.

I can not decide which of these is the lesser evil. I hesitate to say that at least the desire demons give me... some pleasure. But I am no fool, and dragging myself away from them is more painful than anything else. ~~I sometimes~~

Forgive me, this is all too sordid. I do not wish to worry you further when I have already said what I intended. Do not worry about my affairs. I have already set everything in order, and please do not come looking for me, as I will most certainly already be dead by the time this reaches you, and I would not have you risk your life over a corpse. I wish you well, my friend. May your future shine brightly in my absence. I would not wish you a moment's grief.

All of my love,  
Gaius Amell


	2. A light in the dark

He doesn't know how long he's been down here, crawling through the dark. It wasn't uncomfortable at first. He wasn't perturbed when all of his torches burned out and his flint was scraped to nothing. He could always just summon a few sparks from his fingers if he needed a light, and lyrium was plentiful in the deep roads. But he didn't dislike the darkness either, when he got used to it. However, the further he ventured more his supplies dwindled. He hadn't planned on surviving so long down here, alone in dark spawn territory. He stopped finding dwarves ages ago.

He couldn't just give up and let some brute slay him. A part of him still clung to the basic functions of life: fight, run, kill, eat...

He knew that eating tainted flesh never ended in anything good. But he thought to himself, what did it matter? He was going to die anyway, and his body had already proven itself strong enough to resist the taint of an archdemon, so what difference would it make if he nibbled some piddly genlock? He was weak. His gut felt as though he had swallowed broken glass, (Although that might have been the lyrium) and after all he'd achieved he refused to die from something as banal as starvation. If he would go mad from the taint then... so be it. It would at least be more fitting.

Most days (if he could call it that) he finds himself caught on the most beautiful singing... it's the most wonderful thing he's ever heard, and honestly the brightest thing he has to look forward to as he wanders the depths of the earth. In most moments he feels that he must already be dead, and in others he is gutting some creature that only just realized that he was still mostly human. A close call paints Amell in a sticky black ichor that burns. The singing distracts him again before he can worry.

It's the music that keeps him from realizing that he's been slowly travelling up for maybe days now, instead of down. It's because of this that anyone finds him at all.

He's in the dark, like usual, when torchlight catches him by surprise, and it burns enough to make him flinch. But blinking does not really clear his vision. He still can only see smudges, as if his eyes were full of clouds. The sounds of clanking armor, noisy humans, assualt his ears, and his first impulse is to flee. Clambering against cold stone walls, the sound of familiar voices pulls the last rational piece of him out into the open, and horror washes over him.

"What- Why- A-ah?!" Amell's voice cracks from disuse, but is angry none the less.

"No- I" He grunts, ducks his head, shields it with his arms. He didn't want this. He should have died before this could have happened. Was he maybe halucinating? The heavy thump of a hand on his shoulder tells him it's real, and he flinches away. He can't help the snarl on his face as he reaches for the curved blade at his hip. Lightning curls over his fingers. After so much time in the dark... the idea that touch might be friendly is... beyond him.

Luckily the figure that had reached for him has backed away... but Amell can see that there are more of them. Figures whose faces he can not make out in the dim light but wearing uniforms that are like his own, if cleaner. He stays his hand. But he is visibly tense, It does not feel right to be surrounded. He can hear them muttering.

"Maker- the taint's got him."

"This was a waste of time, Should'a respected his calling-"

"He's a bloody mess he is-"

One of the men makes an abortive gesture and the tunnel goes quiet again. several seconds pass before he speaks. Tentatively. It's strange to hear that voice used in such a way, but Amell would recognize it anywhere.

"Warden Commander- Amell. _My friend._ It's- it's okay now, we're here to help you-" Alistair.

"I told you to leave me! How- Why- No... this is a trick- you're a demon- _aren't_ you!" Amell was a ruin of a man, after half a year of isolation, and the sound of Alistair's voice was like a mirage to him. Demons of desire had ample time to probe his mind for weaknesses. They always took the prince's form, tempting him. Was it any wonder that he could not reconcile the sight of his friend with reality?

"Warden commander!" Alistair's ranks had begun a discontented murmur in response to Amell's aggression, but another voice rose up through the din. It was- The warden recognized it, but he had not expected to find the owner in the fade with him. He turned his eyes towards the figure, who now approached him. He could feel more than see the nimbus of energy that swirled around the other mage. He stiffened, but-

"A-anders...?" The healer's presence was a balm in a way that puzzled Amell. He had felt it before when he had brought the apostate into their ranks. But he had not thought he would ever see the man again, after the apostate abandoned his duty. There was no chance that a demon would have plucked this memory from his mind. What purpose would it have served?

"Be calm," Was all Anders said before a calloused palm was placed over the warden commander's eyes. He shivered, his lips pulled back to show teeth. He would not allow this man- friend or not- to- But then a cool wash spread over his face, like water and mint, and his irritation slipped away.

"I-" Amell started to babble. But a drowsy spell made him weak. A set of strong arms and wide shoulders caught him before he could fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you ask, no, I haven't a clue where I'm going with this.


	3. Finding the path

When Amell wakes it's like lifting away a veil. One of wool that's been soaked in the ocean, and the salt has gotten into every cut and scrape on his body. He's hot, and the blankets wrapped snuggly around him are dreadfully uncomfortable. It's such an ordeal trying to untangle his limbs from the bed that he gives up half way, short of breath. His memory is hazy as he tries to recall how he came to be in an unfamiliar bed, in the back of a covered wagon along side boxes of... elfroot? Their stench is filling the air. 

The wagon he is lying in rolls over a pothole, the lurching does a terrible thing to his stomach, and suddenly he's on his knees, retching. Someone shoves and empty chamber pot under his nose just in time, but it's messy anyway. The stuff coming out of him is black and... crawls about like it has a mind of it's own. He wipes his mouth with the back of a hand, flops over onto his back again, groaning.

He bleerily looks up at the figure looming over him. Anders. He looks tired- wait, _Anders?_

 

The deep roads. He'd thought- For a moment he'd believed it all had been particularly vivid dream, just a vision of darkspawn, nothing he hadn't experienced before... But he knew better than to think that now. No wonder he felt like he'd been trampled by a dragon. How was it he was able to see? How was he even still alive? He probably had Anders to blame for that.

"Well that's one way to wake up." The man kneels by his side, the relief on his face is as plain as day. The hand placed on Amell's brow is too familiar.

"Bugger off," He growls before pushing the limb away, and even that exhausts him.

"...You had a lot of foul stuff pushing through your veins, it's a miracle we even found you alive, let alone sane... well, sane enough." He can tell that Anders is only trying to make light of things, but the conversation puts a scowl on the Warden Commander's face.  
"I never asked- never _wanted_ help, Anders. I told Alistair that- I- the _nerve of him_ -" frustration steals the words from his mouth. Alistair should have understood, and the fact that he came looking for him anyway, hurts. It had been a fools errand, dragging him out of the deep roads... He might be feeling better now but... Wait, how was it he'd recovered this much from so long underground? From his _calling?_  This was absolutely miraculous- absurd-

"You expected him to sit tight after reading that letter? _Really?_ Ser Alistair may be a fool, but confessing to him like that was just _cruel_. I could hardly blame him." Why must Anders always speak so flippantly? At this moment all it manages to do is make Amell seethe, if he were stronger he'd... well the weather certainly wouldn't be this cheery.

"It was my right! What is the point in prolonging this dying man's life, all you lot have achieved is-"

"Death comes to us all! But if you ask me, before you jumped at the chance to off yourself the only thing killing you was your own heart!" The flash of anger stuns Amell. Anders is usually such a happy fellow. But it's more than that. Behind his eyes Amell can see something moving, glowing like embers, and he knows in an instant that Anders has made the biggest mistake any mage could.

He scrambles out of his bedclothes, trying to get to his feet, but all he can manage is a low crouch before Ander's pushes him down again, with the anger gone all that's left on his face is a concerned frown. Amell doesn't trust it, and suddenly he wonders what in Thedas happened after Anders fled the Grey Wardens.

"and what reason does an abomination have, to return to Fereldon so he can save someone he used to know?" He can tell that his words have stung, and he is glad for it. Icy rage lies beneath his skin. He's wary of a potential threat and outraged to have his right's disregarded, _stolen_... even if 'Anders' words held so much truth.

After a sitting back, the apostate forces a smile back onto his face. "...So cold. I don't recall you ever treating Justice like this in the past, in fact you seemed rather fond."

"I-" This was not what Amell expected. " _Justice?_  but-" The spirit who'd helped him in his harrowing, the one who'd been so unfortately trapped outside the fade. Now possessing Anders?! The shook his head in disbelief.

"Are you sure that was wise?"

"I could see how he hated using the bodies of the dead and... well, now he is mostly dormant. He likes that he can visit the fade sometimes, at least through me." Anders tries to laugh, and Amell can tell that he's not telling him something. But he is too caught up in this new information to pry. Anders is an abomination... but it doesn't seem like anything has changed at all with him besides old age. Or perhaps the healer is just due for a vacation.

"Sorry I... This is strange." Amell's apology is awkward, but it is the best he can manage right now.

"I get it, just promise you wont tell anyone." Anders _winks_ at him. He makes confidence look so effortless. Amell wishes he could be half as happy as how that man seemed at the worst of times. Even if it couldn't always be real. Because anything would be better than how he feels now, especially now that he isn't distracted by the drama of others.

So. living, how was he to figure that out again? Thinking about undoing all the things he had prepared, retrieving all the things he discarded, makes him want to groan.

He's pretty sure Anders isn't a mind reader, but the other mage seems to guess where Amell's thoughts have wandered off to in the stretching silence. The man lets out a sigh. He expects to be scolded again... but it doesn't come.

"Try to sleep. You're still not fully recovered yet and... well we still have a day or two's worth of travel before we make it back to vigil's keep."

"...I don't think I can." Creaky wagon wheels, horse whineys, the clanking of many suits of heavy armor. Too much bloody noise, and now Anders is laughing at him.

"Yes, well, try anyway." It's not often that the older mage shows his age. Even if they are only a few years apart, having the healer dote on him like this just makes Amell feel as though he never stopped being an apprentice.

"You're not _Irving_ , I killed an _Archdemon_ , I can stay up if I _like_." Anders laughs harder, and his attempts at stifling it are poorly done, ass. Amell takes a swing at him.

"Sorry- sorry-" He doesn't look very apologetic. Instead his face is filled with so much relief. But the Warden decides that its good enough. He doesn't have the energy for a real fight anyway. He lets out a whoosh of hot breath and stairs up at the ceiling. Beside him, the apostate shifts, making himself more comfortable. Amell realizes that Anders had probably been dozing not that long ago too.

The noise is still something awful, and the wagon ride is uncomfortable enough without scratchy blankets making him feel like he's boiling alive. But eventually exhaustion takes a hold of him again, his eyes close, and he can't stop himself from slipping away. He's distantly aware of a familiar flicker of magic, and the sloshing of water. In another moment he can feel a wet rag spread over his brow, and the chill of it is such a relief that it pushes him further into his dreams. Good dreams, not the fade kind, or darkspawn visions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this turned out fluffier than expected.


	4. Desires

The Warden Commander doesn't remember a whole lot about his life before joining the circle. He was awfully young when he'd been taken, and of course the Chantry forbid his parents from asking after him. So he hasn't been able to keep in touch with his family. He's heard that the Amells have been doing well in kirkwall, but that's all he knows, or cares to know. He gave up the idea of a family long ago. He belonged with the Grey Wardens, and in a way, they were all related by blood too.

He remembers being a upset about what had been stolen from him, in his younger days. But he'd never been a tyrant over it, like some other apprentices, and it was just one more injustice piled in with all the rest. Who could keep track of it all? It didn't get any special attention, and Gaius was used to having less. Passive and a timid sort, He was more thoughtful about his actions even at the height of puberty. Hearing Anders talk of promiscuity within the circle was no surprise, but those conversations did make him fidget. His own tales of sexual awakening are few... but no less embarrassing. He's glad that the apostate didn't know him as well in his youth, otherwise Amell was sure there would be no end to the teasing.

He's 16 when he has his first kiss with a boy named Duke, and that really catches him by surprise. The other apprentice is older by only a year. But to the young even that small amount of time feels like ages, and Gaius will admit that something about that was mysterious, mature, desirable. Duke was so clever, so gifted with runes and memorizing all the tiny little details in glyphs. He would have made the enchanters love him if his mouth didn't frequently get away from him. He had a terribly short temper, and all of that came through in this stolen moment moment in the hallway, just before curfew. The shorter boy with his flyaway curls might as well have tackled him against the wall.

The noise must have carried, because in the next minute Ser Cullen was scolding them for fraternization and they were sent to one of the Chantry sisters for lecturing. Gaius went to bed with his ears burning and an uncomfortable stirring at the thought of Duke.

Of course, none of this really stopped them from having repeat performance, and another, during which they were much more discrete. These trysts were a bright spot in his otherwise dreary Circle life. Until this point he'd never had much interest in girls, and, never realizing that boys were an option, once Duke had come into his life he had become completely smitten. Unabashedly sappy over his fellow apprentice.

Nervous over tomorrow's Harrowing, they took comfort from each other's bodies, and the following day Duke was taken away and never seen again. For the longest time he hadn't understood. He'd hated and dreaded the Harrowing, despised the Templars for holding it over all their heads like a threat. His own test came several years later, and the understanding that came with how Duke likely met his end left him cold. It was so hard to believe that someone as strong as he had fallen to a Demon's temptations.

Losing himself in the Darkroads told The Warden Commander just how easy it could really be to slip, and now that he's well again he wonders about the things his first love had let fester in his heart, and he understands. He has been given plenty of time to decide on this. Traveling and settling back into his role at vigil's keep takes about a week. One would think that he would be given plenty of distractions after the stunt he pulled, but no. It goes without saying that he does his damnedest to avoid paperwork as much as possible, it's better to leave that sort of stuff to the more politically savvy. But the halls are also surprisingly Alistair free, and many of the companions he has adopted over the years have decided to give him a wide berth once they exchanged their initial greetings, with the exception of Anders and Zevran.

It chafes him to think that Alistair would go through all this trouble only to ignore him and pretend like nothing ever happened... but it's worse than that. At least before his confession he and Alistair had been _friends_. Now they are just... nothing.

"This moping does not suit you- if you wish to speak with Alistair then you need only seek him out." Zevran has rested his chin on Gaius' shoulder, crouched on the bed behind them, moving to embrace him. The sheets are rumpled and garments are tossed about the chamber in a more vigorous fashion that normal, as if their excited lovemaking was the mark of an occasion, or perhaps it was just to make up for over six months of absence. But now they sit comfortably near the other, tired and sore but satisfied, such is their relationship.

"It's not that simple, Zevran. He's... I..."

"No, it really is. He lives right down the hall." The Crow's easy confidence on such things is so wonderful, enviable. It would seem that Amell has a type. But this doesn't make his situation any less vexing. "I have seen you face far more dangerous things than this, and yet you are so _shy._.. But I will admit there is something ... _alluring_ about that. You make the most delicious expressions... Perhaps I should go to our friend and tell him? I could help you wind your way into his bedclothes."

"No, that's not necessary..." Gaius mumbles, the elf looks to be honestly considering the option, and all of a sudden heads for the door. "Please don't- what- Zevran? _Zevran!_ " Only when a hand lands on the door nob does Amell scramble after his friend. But then all Zevran does is turn to look back at him, a playful grin on his face.

"No? So will you approach him yourself?" His eyes trail downwards "Dressed as you are? How... cute." Neither of them have bothered to redress themselves after their tumble. Why would they, it's the middle of the night. But Zevran's words strike home, and Gaius flushes at the thought of such an encounter. But at least his companion has turned back to him, leaving the door alone.

"But... I don't think such an inelegant attempt at seduction would end well. Alistair would likely just shut the door in your face. As funny as that would probably be I wouldn't make you humiliate yourself so."

Gaius had not intended to seduce anyone, but he knows that Zevran is only baiting him... and he tries not to rise to it. tries.

"and I suppose you would have me try a different tactic?" There's no real point in trying to hide that he would try, if he had the courage. The Crow can see right through him.

The elf hmms, and saunters closer. "Perhaps, I could teach you... since you are such a quick learner." Maker's breath this man was insatiable, and has never been one to let an opportunity slip by. Gaius likes this about the other so much that he can't really say no, however tired and embarrassed he might feel, and so Gaius finds himself tumbling onto the mattress again, Zevran whispers sultry techniques into his ear and Gaius watches as clever figures undo him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was getting a bit too long, but I felt it really needed a break somewhere around here. Hope it wasn't too abrupt.


	5. Restoration

Gaius feels embarrassed just thinking about it the next morning, (He never knew he had those kinks) besides feeling like he was in good need of a bath. But he can't be bothered with fetching a tub or water right now and the smells coming from the kitchen beckon him.

He dresses quickly, brushing fingers through his bedhead until he gives it up as hopeless. He splashes his face with water and throws on a simple robe. Zevran is gone, which is a normal occurrence. He finds him later in the dining hall, looking much fresher than himself. The elf sends Gaius a suggestive glance, before looking pointedly towards-

Oh.

There Alistair was, sitting at the end of the table all by his lonesome, tucking into a bowl of oats. Without all the platemail on, he looks naked. It takes someone nudging Amell in the ribs for him to remember to breathe.

"Go on then, poor sod looks lonely enough that he might try and talk to his bacon, or _Oghren_." Anders. That knowing look on the apostate's face makes The Warden want to smother him. But it's made him forget to be nervous at least.

Well, not completely. His legs seem to be reminded of this first when he's half way across the room, wobbling as if he were facing down a broodmother, or maybe like he's 11 and he's accidentally set Wynne's Grimoire on fire.

He detours, waiting in a too short line to get his own food. Wow, the cooking staff really have outdone themselves today. There's eggs and bacon and a buttery smelling grain that's probably oats, gravy, fruit, and he's pretending very badly to actually be interested in any of this because his stomach feels like its full of lyrium again, and that stuff is the absolute worst when you have to chug a potion on a empty stomach. But he grabs a roll and piles things onto his plate at random, and then fusses over the mess he's made when using a serving spoon proves too difficult for his shaking hands...

With no other way to stall, he takes the seat across from Alistair. The chair squawks as its slid over the smooth stone floor, and his dish clatters more than neccessary. Gaius frets over this and stares at the massacre that's taken place on his plate.

"Good... morning." He says, eventually, poking it. When he looks up he finds Alistair is looking at him like he's- well, insane. Which is probably an accurate descriptor at the moment. Gaius hastily clears his throat and attempts to compose himself. come on, he can do this. Who has nerves of steel? He does.

"Sorry- I, hows your morning gone? I've just gotten up myself." There, not so hard, it's just like mornings past, when he'd have to make friendly chatter with Alistair while pretending he wasn't smitten and he hadn't woken up with a stiffy and the bastard prince's name on his lips.

"...I can tell. You look like a hurricane... whats that on your neck?" Ah, but of course this isn't like those times. The cat is out of the bag. Still, it is reassuring for Alistair to at least answer him. But it does send a jolt down his spine to have Alistair point out the mark left by Zevran. Gaius slaps a hand over the purple yellow bruise, or where he thinks it is.

"Oh!- it's- you know, Zevran..." This isn't the first time that something like this has happened, but the timing of it now isn't that great.

It takes a moment, but Alistair's disgust is comical. "Eww, I should have figured- You two are _still_ going at it? I thought what you had was just a fling!" Or maybe this wasn't so bad? They seemed to have something to talk about now at least.

"Well, yes? Why not?" Eventually his hand came away. Gaius didn't see the point in hiding it now. He caught Alistair's eyes flickering towards it before shooting off to the side. Turning his own gaze, Gaius found Zevran looking back at them from across the room with that same confidant smile on his face.

"Well. I'd thought that, since you- er... How can you sleep with someone if you don't... like... them?" When Amell looks he finds Alistair watching him again, slightly pink in the cheeks but looking, for some reason, offended?

"But I do like Zevran?"

"No- I mean, you _like_ him... _love_ him." Alistair's discomfort with the discussion was almost cute, but the line of inquiry this had taken was... just as awkward for Gaius as well.  
"Well, I suppose I do love him... but theres nothing to do about that, since Zevran refuses to be tied down, and I... well." It was almost funny, how impossible it was for him still to speak about his feelings for Alistair honestly, even though he'd already confessed, at least via writing. He tried to recover, perhaps direct the conversation elsewhere. "I'm far too busy being the Warden Commander to worry about those sorts of things anyway! It's easier to keep our relationship casual." He laughed.

But, this didn't seem to be the right answer. Alistair almost looked angry, actually. But he caught himself before he could say anything. He turned his gaze outwards towards the rest of the room before shaking his head.

"I... come with me? I need to talk to you... _privately_."

"..."

Gaius initially saw no reason why he shouldn't, at least once he'd recovered from his surprise. He wondered what this could possibly be about, but he could take a guess... and the possibilities filled him with dread. He looked down at his breakfast. Barely any of it had made it into his stomach, but who was he kidding? He wasn't going finish this. He felt bad for the waste and decided he ought feed it to the Mabari later, since they loved to be spoiled and Gaius loved to spoil them... Later, once Alistair was finished with him.

"O-of course." and then they both stood to leave. They walked, or rather Alistair walked and Gaius followed, it was such an odd experience to not be in the lead, but it hardly mattered now. The ex-templar clearly had some place in mind when he said they needed privacy, and if it meant they wouldn't have to worry about eavesdroppers during the oncoming conversation then Gaius could only agree to it wholeheartedly.

But... something about being in Alistair's private quaters was awfully distracting. Embarrassing. It wasn't often that he'd seen the insides of it. He could see all the gifts he'd given Alistair over the years, along with other knick knacks and things, old socks with patches sewn over the toes, a pair of trousers slung over the back of a chair, _joke_ books, the bed where Alistair _slept_ , where he-

Maker, stop him and his traitorous thoughts, this room _smelled_ like him. Alistair was rifling through a stack of papers on his desk, only to withdraw one small slice of parchment, dirty and wrinkled, the handwriting hasty and packed too closely together; covered in scratch marks, as if the writer had no other paper to use. Amell's confession and suicide letter, all packed together in one miserable grouping of paragraphs.

"Do you remember when- before we fought the Archdemon, before the battle, when we spoke to Riordan and he told us how to slay it? You... you offered your own life in sacrifice so quickly... why?" Alistair doesn't look up from the missive in his fingers.

It takes a moment for Gaius to even recall the time, so many years ago. "Why?... I was just..." But of course, not much about him had changed, and Gaius had started loving Alistair the day they first met. "I didn't think that, compared to you or... anyone, I thought that it would be better for me to go, than to let anyone else die for me," _or to see you die_. The words are left unsaid, but Alistair seems to catch them anyway.

"You think so poorly of yourself, it's almost selfish." There, Alistair's eyes have lifted to Amell's now, piercing him. He feels as if he has been burned, as he flinches, gaze falling away.

"Imagine my horror when I received this- no- not about-" He shakes his head preemptively, pauses, then continues. "That you've gone off to greet death again. Your Calling. But- There was no way I could believe that at face value, not when you are still young, when I have been a warden longer than you and I still feel no sign of it, and especially knowing how willing you've been in the past to simply... _give up_."

Gaius could not find the words to reply. He felt defenseless, unarmed and unarmored in a strange room. His actions were indefenseable. He could only offer excuses, and even those felt trivial to him now, with fresh air, sunshine and friends reminding him how much more there was to life than heartache and darkspawn.

"So I've hated myself... because if it wasn't your Calling that drove you away, then... it was me, wasn't it? I wish... I don't know how I would have reacted if you had told me before, when your life was not on the line. But as things are, I am sorry... forgive me."

Gaius looked up, startled to hear footsteps as Alistair approached, He looked to be coming in for a hug with such a wretched expression on his face. But he shifted, perhaps in response to the mage's flinch. and instead simply braced his hands on his friend's shoulders. Rubbing his arms, not briskly, but almost.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come out with that, but it's important and... look, I accept you for... who you are... I'm not sure if I can reciprocate, but you don't have to worry about me hating you just because you've got a crush on me. I might be a bit... pig-headed at times, but I mean that. You're more important to me than a little discomfort."

Gaius was at a loss for words for a long moment, he could hardly believe what he was hearing, or put up any resistance to the boyish pats on his shoulders. Alistair was jostling him quite a bit, but he didn't mind, and Alistair seemed nervous enough without Gaius telling him not to be so rough. It didn't hurt, it was... nice.

"Oh... okay, then... I guess I just, with how you acted with Zevran I was," _afraid_ "worried that you'd react badly if I said anything."

"Zevran? But- that's _Zevran_. The man's a bloody pervert! I- But- I can see why you'd keep it to yourself. It took me long enough to realize that on my own... But that reminds me. Zevran and you? I don't know if I can really agree with it, splitting your affection like that. You said you loved me, but then as soon as you've come back you're fooling around with other people. I... I'm not saying you can't like as many people as you want but... it seems a bit dishonest to pursue me... knowing that I don't really like sharing- I mean- hypothetically!" Alistair has put some space between them again. The air is noticeably lighter. Gaius kind of wants to laugh from giddiness.

"Maybe- but what did it matter if I was sleeping around? I never dreamed any of it would actually matter to you! Since you are so completely  _heterosexual_."

"Er... right, but- you know, maybe if you'd just been a bit more _serious_ about it..."

"You want me to be more serious. You. " Gaius is grinning, and Alistair just looks... so awkward, unsure of his own masculinity by having this discussion, is kind of pitiable, but also adorable.

"You know what I mean, you git!" He doesn't seem to like being teased either, and Gaius can't help but laugh at him, he feels so relieved.

"Don't laugh you- oh go away, pick on Alistair time is _over_. I'll talk to you later." and then Alistair is pushing him out the door, into the hall where a fresh morning breeze is wafting in from somewhere.

Yes well. Mabari it was then, he certainly had the energy to spare for them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> sorta lol  
> it feels like good stopping point? I never wanted this to drag on forever. But I could definitely see myself maybe writing little snipit sequals in the future, but for now I can't see how they would actually contribute to the story here, so for now I'll leave this like this.  
> Hope you all liked it!


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